Little Town Blues
by dazdnconfusd730
Summary: Neal - cool, collected, unflappable Neal - visibly started at the name. No one had called him that since… He spun around, blue eyes wide and staring, heart pounding. The man was returning Neal's gaze with the same blue eyes and a slightly rueful smile.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The Neal Caffrey charm has gotten me. I decided to write this to answer some questions the show's left me with. There will be spoilers in this. It takes place before the events of Judgement Day, but there's definitely some information from the episode that influenced the plot of this. Hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

"_Start spreading the news." _

Neal recognized the voice of old Frankie the minute he opened the door at June's.

"_I'm leaving today."_

He grinned, taking off his hat and setting it on the table near the stairs before walking through the front entry, looking for his land lady. He found her standing near the record player, humming along to the song with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Neal leaned against the doorframe of the living room, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks, lips tilting into a smile while he watched. Listening to the lyrics, Neal couldn't help but think at that moment that the song almost felt like Frank Sinatra was singing an ode to him.

Finally, he couldn't help but chime in, straightening and singing along, "These little town blues are melting a way."

June opened her eyes and practically beamed at him, holding out her hand and beckoning him over to her. Neal, knowing what she wanted, strode across the room and took her hand, pulling her toward him so they could dance.

"I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps, and find I'm a number one, top of the list, king of the hill." Neal continued to serenade her as they did a slow spin around the living room. June was glowing, looking like a woman forty years younger.

Neal gave her a little dip as the song finished, Frank holding out the final "_New York._"

June let out a laugh. "Neal, you always know how to show a girl a good time."

He grinned at her and straightened them both. "Oh no, June, it's you always showing me a good time - I just try to keep up."

She smiled again, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the dance."

"It's always a pleasure," he said, releasing her. "What's the occasion?"

"I found a few of Byron's records. He loved this song."

"Well who wouldn't?" Neal said. "Nothing but truths in it."

June laughed. "There's no denying that," she said. "Your mail's in the front hall." She walked over to the record player to remove the vinyl.

"Thanks, June," he said with a parting smile, turning to retrieve both his mail and his hat, and make his way upstairs to his apartment.

He was humming _New York, New York_ as he entered. He'd been in a hell of a good mood the last few days. Peter was no longer upset with him, the treasure, though disappointing to lose, was no longer able to cause a rift between him and Mozzie, he didn't have to leave New York, and, the creme de la creme? He was getting a commutation hearing. He might actually have the opportunity to be off anklet - free - for good.

"I'll make a brand new start of it, in old New York," he sang under his breath as he flipped through his mail.

A postcard gave him pause. It was a picture of the Statue of Liberty, ironically enough, considering the song in his head. He turned it over, frowning when he realized the only thing written on it was an address and _11pm - Alone_. The last time he got mysterious postcards they turned out to be from Keller. But Keller was in jail - it couldn't be him.

At least, Neal was fairly certain it couldn't.

He thought about calling Peter, but if this did have something to do with Keller, Neal couldn't help but want to leave him out of it. The Burkes had suffered enough from Keller's games.

His door opened without warning. "You know, Neal," Mozzie said, striding into his apartment as if he lived there. "The appeal has been lost."

Neal, back to the door, hurriedly but smoothly slipped the postcard into his suit jacket without Mozzie even noticing. Then he turned to look at his friend, continuing to flip through his mail. "The appeal?" he asked.

"Having been (albeit briefly) a billionaire, I am finding it rather difficult to adjust back to the normal small time dealings to which I was once so accustomed." Mozzie immediately went for Neal's wine collection.

"Moz, you didn't really even have the opportunity to live like a billionaire," Neal replied, setting down his mail on the table, though his mind was still on the postcard.

"That is not the point. The point, my friend, is that I _was _one. And I knew I was one. So finding myself back on the street con is just a bit, shall we say, disappointing."

"I know," Neal placated. "But just think, you did it for Elizabeth. She's safe because of you."

Mozzie poured himself a glass of wine, mulling the words over. "I suppose that's a decent consolation."

A few hours later, Neal checked his watch. Ten o'clock. If he was going to go, it should be soon. Might not hurt to get there a little early and case the place.

"Hello, earth to Neal," Mozzie said, and Neal realized he'd been lost in thought and had completely missed whatever Mozzie had been saying.

"Sorry, Moz, what was that?" he said, giving him a charming and apologetic smile.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" Mozzie asked, raising his eyebrows behind his thick glasses.

"What?" Neal said.

"You've been checking your watch periodically all night," Mozzie replied. "As if I wouldn't notice."

Normally Neal would have told Mozzie about the postcard, but with all that Keller had cost him (billions of dollars, for example) well, he thought that maybe it would be a better idea just to deal with this on his own. Besides, it might not even be Keller.

"Sorry, yeah, actually," Neal said. "We're doing a stakeout at eleven and you know how Peter gets when I'm late."

"Oh, well, far be it for me to keep you from helping the Suits impeach on the freedom of fellow criminals," Mozzie said, taking another sip wine and not looking like he had any intention of going anywhere.

Neal smiled and stood. "Have a good night, Moz," he said.

Mozzie merely lifted his hand in a wave. "Yeah yeah. Go on, the Suit awaits."

* * *

Peter was reading in bed next to his wife when his cell phone rang.

Elizabeth looked at the clock, which read eleven. "Don't they know what time it is?" She said with a teasing smile. It was the FBI, Peter and El both knew they didn't care about what time it was.

Peter smiled back at her. "Have I told you lately you're a saint?"

"Not recently," Elizabeth said with a grin.

"You're a saint." Peter leaned over and kissed her before answering his phone. He frowned as the person on the other end spoke. "How long?" He listened. "All right, keep an eye on him, I'll see if I can find out what's going on." He hung up with a sigh.

"Neal?" Elizabeth said, knowing that look fairly well by now.

Peter gave her a half smile. "I asked the Marshall's to let me know if he even got close to the edge of his radius."

"But I thought it didn't matter where he went as long as he's inside the two miles?"

"It doesn't," Peter said. "It shouldn't." He sighed again. "But after this whole treasure mess, I'm just wary, I guess."

Elizabeth gave him a quiet smile. "He told you he didn't want to run," she said. "Even when he had the chance, he decided to stay. I know it's hard, but I really think you can trust him."

"I do trust him," Peter said. "It's his judgement I don't trust." He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I'm sorry hon, but I've got to go check his tracking data."

Elizabeth smiled. "Try not to stay up too late."

Peter was at his kitchen table, staring at Neal's tracking data. He'd made his way out to a fairly terrible area of the city around 10:30, and he'd stood at a particular address for nearly forty five minutes before starting to walk again. He wasn't headed home though, just walking around.

"What are you doing, Neal?" he asked no one in particular.

Finally, he couldn't take the curiosity. He considered driving out to find him, but figured that would only make it painfully obvious that he was still spying on his CI. Neal had been in a great mood since Peter had forgiven him for the treasure debacle, he seemed to be genuinely helpful and happy to be at the bureau. Peter didn't want him to know he still was having a hard time trusting him.

So instead he picked up his phone, figuring he could make something up about why he was calling at eleven thirty at night.

The phone rang several times as Peter watched the dot that represented Neal move around the screen of his laptop.

"You've got him in your clutches and you're still calling him, Suit?"

Peter frowned as Neal's phone was answered by what was obviously Mozzie.

"Mozzie?" he said. "Where's Neal?"

"What do you mean, where's Neal?" Mozzie replied. "He left over an hour ago to meet you at your big government sponsored stakeout."

"My… stakeout," Peter repeated. Neal had lied to Mozzie? What the hell was going on? Peter decided it was better not to alert the little guy. He and Neal had just managed to repair the rift that the treasure had caused between them, and honestly, he didn't want him telling Neal that Peter had an idea something was going on. "Right. Why do you have his phone?"

"He left it on the table in his rush to be on time and keep you happy," Mozzie said.

"Must be why we're having trouble meeting up," Peter replied. "Thanks." He hung up the phone before he could hear a snide comment, eyes still glued to the screen of his laptop.

* * *

Neal quietly and cautiously approached the address from the postcard. He had his hat on, and it cast his face in shadows as he walked under street lamps, not that he was really concerned about being spotted. The location he'd been given was in an area of the city where most of the buildings were abandoned. The only people he'd seen so far were a few homeless and one probable junkie who'd been curled up and shaking by a dumpster.

He stuck out like a sore thumb with his crisp clean suit and tie, and he was starting to wonder if that wasn't the point.

Maybe he should call Peter. Coming alone and not even telling Mozzie where he was going might have been a stupid idea after all. Decision made, he reached into his pocket for his phone, before realizing with a jolt that he'd left it sitting on his table at the apartment.

"Way to think ahead, Caffrey," he muttered to himself, stopping as he reached his destination and taking a look around. The place itself was like most of the buildings in this neighborhood. Boarded up windows, rotting doors. Nothing special from what he could see.

He checked his watch. Ten thirty. Half an hour early. Maybe it would be best to find a more secluded spot, to see who arrived; but he didn't get the opportunity because the person he was meeting had apparently come early as well.

"Ben," came a voice from behind him.

Neal - cool, collected, unflappable Neal - visibly started at the name. No one had called him that since…

He spun around, blue eyes wide and staring, heart pounding.

"Sorry," the man said. He was tall, thin, with dark curly hair that had bits of grey peppering through it, and he was returning Neal's gaze with the same blue eyes and a slightly rueful smile. "I guess it's Neal now, huh?"

Neal swallowed, trying to get enough control of himself to speak. To say something. Anything.

All he got out was, "Dad."


	2. Chapter 2

"_Neal, where have you been?" his mother asked when he slid through the door at nearly eleven, which was way past his curfew. He had been quiet as he opened the door – he knew just how to avoid making it creak – but he was pretty certain his mother had super hearing._

"_With Jim and Derek," the thirteen year old lied smoothly, toeing off his sneakers and shutting the door. "I'm sorry, mom, we lost track of time." He seemed truly genuine._

_Fortunately, his mother hadn't developed super lie detecting, or Neal would have been screwed. No matter how unable he was to sneak by her, he was always good at talking his way out of trouble._

_She shook her head and smiled. "Pay more attention next time," she told him. "If it happens again I'm going to have to ground you." She always said that, but she never followed through._

"_It won't," Neal promised, like he always did. She kissed him on the forehead and he trotted upstairs to his room. He shut the door and listened at it for a few moments, making sure his mom wasn't coming upstairs yet. When he was sure he was safe, he dropped to his stomach and reached under the bed, pulling up a loose floorboard and extracting a small journal._

_The things inside it looked like they were written in gibberish, but that was because Neal had been writing in code since he'd gotten the idea watching Ralphie use his decoder ring in A Christmas Story for the fourth year in a row. When he would look back on it years later, he'd smile and think it was a pretty terrible attempt at a code, but at the time, Neal had never felt cleverer._

_He crossed out a few things from his list. Two cemeteries now and he still hadn't been able to find his dad's grave. But there were two more possibilities, so he hadn't given up just yet._

Neal wasn't sure when he started seeing the holes in his mother's story, or if he would have continued to choose to ignore them forever, if Ellen hadn't stepped in on his eighteenth birthday and told him the truth.

It wasn't just when his mom would tell him about how his dad had died and Neal found himself thinking that the story wasn't exactly the same as the last time she'd told him.

It was other things. Like how for a cop who had died saving so many people, it was odd that Neal couldn't remember a funeral. But he'd been so young, only a little older than two at the time, so he'd just told himself it wasn't surprising.

Then, once in a while, Neal found himself questioning why he and his mother never went to visit his father's grave. He'd told himself that it was because his mother couldn't handle the grief, so he'd decided to go on the quest to discover where his dad was buried on his own. He'd spent several weeks when he was thirteen wandering through headstones and gazing somberly at each name, just waiting to see his father's and wondering what the inscription would read. _Died in the line of duty_? _Gave his life protecting others_? _Loving husband and father_?

He never found out, because try though he did, he'd never been able to locate Daniel Caffrey's headstone.

Then, on his eighteenth birthday, Ellen, his father's old partner, took him aside and told him why.

Not only was his father no hero - he wasn't dead either.

"What are you doing here?" Neal asked his father, more than a decade since that moment.

"I wanted to see you," Daniel replied.

Neal's eyebrows arched. "At eleven at night in this area of the city?" he asked, sounding doubtful.

"Look, Ben-" he seemed to see the way Neal tensed up, and immediately corrected himself. "Neal. I know it's been a long time. I just… you're my son. I want to get to know you."

Neal said nothing.

"I thought maybe you would have visited again," Daniel continued.

Neal had only gone to see him only once after Ellen had told him where he was. It was his first time in a prison. His dad had been led out in an orange jumpsuit that Neal would eventually find himself very familiar with.

"You're so big," Daniel had said, his blue eyes, the same as Neal's, tearing up.

"Yeah, that happens, I guess," Neal had replied. He wasn't sure what else to say. He didn't cry. He had questions, things he wanted to know - things he needed to know.

He never asked.

They talked about the weather. What Neal was doing. How he'd been.

Neal left with no answers. He went home, packed up his things and took off. He hadn't seen either of his parents since.

"Yeah. I moved," Neal replied.

"And you've been busy," Daniel said. When Neal raised his eyebrows he added, "I've heard a little bit about your, well, exploits."

"Alleged exploits," Neal corrected automatically.

"Right," Daniel said. "Alleged."

"Proud?" Neal asked, feeling oddly sick as he asked the question.

"What?" his dad asked, confused.

"I followed in your footsteps," Neal replied. Just not the footsteps he'd originally intended when he was five and playing cops and robbers with the neighborhood kids. He'd always been the cop back then.

"B-Neal," his dad said. "I'm sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Why are we out here, dad?" As much as Neal would have liked to believe that this was all just about a father/son reunion, the setting was a bit too 'back alley meeting' for his tastes.

"I thought it would be better than just showing up at your place," Daniel said.

"Luring me out to an abandoned building in the middle of the night?"

"All right, it might have been a little more melodramatic than necessary, I can see that now," his dad said, giving him a weak smile.

No, not just melodramatic. It had a flair to it that reminded him of Mozzie. So not only was it melodramatic, it had a tinge of paranoia laced in.

A thought occurred to Neal. "How long have you been out?" It was one of the questions he'd wanted to ask the only time he'd visited, but never did. When he'd be free.

"About seven years," Daniel said.

"Seven years," Neal repeated, thinking of his own life the last seven years. Four of them spent serving his own prison sentence. "So you're not violating parole or something by being here?"

"No, no," Daniel assured him. "I've been through with parole for several years now."

"And now's the first time you're trying to contact me," Neal said. It wasn't a question.

"I know how that seems," Daniel said. "I just wasn't sure you wanted to see me."

"So what changed?" Neal asked. "Why are you here now?"

"Neal," his dad said with a sigh. "I've got a lot of regrets in my life. But missing out on yours is by far my biggest one."

* * *

Peter walked up next to Neal as the young man stood staring at the coffee pot, looking like he was attempting to will it to brew faster, which was saying a lot considering how much Neal despised the taste of the Bureau's coffee.

"Late night?" he asked his partner, who looked at him as if he hadn't even realized he was there. Peter figured he was either lost in thought or, more likely, as exhausted as he was. Neal hadn't made it home until five am, and Peter had stayed up with him, watching his dot wander all along his radius with no apparent destination.

"Mozzie dropped by," Neal half-lied. Peter knew it was only a half lie because Mozzie _had_ been at Neal's when he'd called. It was this kind of thing that frustrated him so much. How Neal could so easily conceal things from him. But as Neal had once said, in his mind it wasn't really lying. It was just not telling the whole truth.

Neal finally took a good look at Peter and raised his eyebrows. "What about you?" he asked. "You look exhausted."

"Had a hard time sleeping," Peter replied. Two could play the not telling the whole truth game.

"I hear that happens as you get older," Neal said. Peter shot him a glare and the younger man offered the Neal Caffrey Smile™ and added, "Not that _you're_ old, Peter. Just a fun fact."

The coffee finally finished brewing and Neal reached for it, but Peter grabbed it first and filled up his mug. Neal sighed, eyes rolling while he waited.

"We've got a mortgage fraud case to look into today," Peter told him as he finished pouring and handed Neal the pot.

"Sounds good," Neal said.

Peter raised his eyebrows. Sounds good? Mortgage fraud? Neal had no complaints about a case like that? Sure, the kid had been more than helpful around the office recently (which Peter attributed partly to the upcoming commutation hearing) but he still usually had a witty remark about boring cases now and then.

Now Peter was sure something was up.

* * *

Neal waited until Peter left to meet Elizabeth for lunch to slip into his office under the pretext of needing to find a file. He wished, not for the first time, that his partner didn't have a giant glass window providing anyone in the vicinity a great view of Peter's desk, but hey, Neal had had to be sneaky in worse conditions. He took a seat at Peter's computer, and, with a quick glance up to make sure no one was looking, he logged in.

What? His computer had no access to any of the Bureau's systems (it was like they didn't trust him or something) and maybe he'd seen Peter type in his password a few times when he thought Neal wasn't looking.

Of course, Neal was always looking.

He ran the search, eyes quickly skimming the file he had pulled. He frowned at what he read, then ran a search on a different name.

"If there's anything there we'll find it."

Neal yanked his attention from the screen at the sound of Diana's voice. He couldn't see her; she was probably just down the hall.

"They can't hide forever," he heard Jones agree.

Knowing he would be completely busted if either of them spotted him on Peter's computer, he quickly hit the print button for both names and escaped out of the database. He stood and slid the mortgage fraud file from the desk before grabbing the papers from Peter's printer and slipping them inside in one subtle move. He walked out of Peter's office and had to pull to a stop as Diana and Jones almost collided with him.

"Hey guys," he said, sounding perfectly pleased to see them.

"Caffrey," Diana said, her pretty face immediately turning into a scowl. "What are you doing in Peter's office?"

"Needed the case file," Neal replied, holding it up for her to see. She eyed him suspiciously, but Neal continued, "How was the birthday dinner? Did Christie like it?"

Diana hesitated, like she usually did whenever Neal tried to bring up her personal life, but eventually said, "Yeah. She did. Thanks for the recipe."

"Anytime," Neal said with a smile, tucking the file under his arm. "If you ever really want to impress, I can tell you how to make a chocolate ganache she won't be able to resist—"

"Thanks Caffrey," Diana said quickly, clearly not liking the grin on Jones's face. "I'll let you know."

"Talk to you later," Neal said, taking the hint and heading back to his own desk.

He grinned after he turned his back to them and heard Jones say, "You bake?"

"Shut up," Diana replied.

When he got home later, Neal, after making sure Mozzie wasn't hanging around the apartment, locked the door and pulled out the things he'd printed.

The night before, despite feeling unsure of his father's intentions, he had relented. His dad talked him into going for a walk, and they'd just… talked. It still had that awkward superficial feeling to it, as if both men had things they didn't want to discuss – subjects they thought better avoided. So they danced around the uncomfortable topics. Even so, Neal had to admit, it felt kind of nice.

His dad asked him questions he always imagined a dad would – are you taking care of yourself? What are you doing for a job? Neal left his answer to that one a bit vague. Then there were the more embarrassing ones. Do you have a girlfriend? What do you mean it's complicated? Was she pretty? How are you going to win her back?

Some of it reminded him a lot of Peter's well intentioned nagging, actually.

It was one of the last questions his dad had asked, however, that had caused Neal to break into Peter's computer the next day.

"You still doing your alleged exploits?" he'd asked, almost too casually, right after Neal had looked at his watch and said he should probably be getting home.

Something about it made Neal remember who he was speaking to. A dirty cop. A man he'd only seen twice since he was almost two.

"I keep my options open," Neal found himself replying, then added, "You?"

"Me?" his dad replied. "Nah. That's all behind me." He gave Neal an awkward smile.

Yet there was no lecture for Neal's response. No warning about how he could ruin his life, his potential. No, 'take it from me, son, I was there,' talk to make sure his kid kept himself out of trouble. Which is something Neal would have expected from a man who'd put it behind him.

Then again, maybe he was just expecting Daniel Caffrey to be more like Peter Burke, who, quite honestly, had been the closest thing to a father figure that Neal had ever had.

Still.

It was enough to make Neal wonder. And since he still hadn't been able to bring himself to ask his dad what exactly had happened to land him in jail (he'd heard the story, just not from him) he decided to look into it another way.

He sat at his kitchen table reading over his father's file several times. Larceny, bribes, obstructing justice, conspiracy, coercion. And that was the short list. His dad had really done the works. Though, there was a small part of him that was glad that there was no homicide on the list. There was a mug shot of him from decades ago. It made Neal grimace – he looked very much like him.

Daniel had told Neal the truth. He'd been released seven years ago, and had finished parole.

Neal wanted to believe that that was it. His dad really did just want to get to know him after all these years.

Slowly, he set down his dad's file and picked up the other one he'd printed.

He'd known from Ellen that his father had been in the pocket of organized crime. But he hadn't realized whose. The biggest crime family in St. Louis. And Neal was looking at a picture of its current boss.

"Dad…what were you thinking?" he asked the mug shot of his father.


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth Burke woke for the fifth night in a row to find her husband was not in bed with her. She sighed and checked the clock. Two in the morning.

Sliding out of bed, Elizabeth went downstairs, unsurprised to find her husband sitting at the kitchen table watching a little dot on the map on his laptop. "Honey, I know you're worried about Neal, but you can't keep spying on him," she said, trying and failing to hold back a yawn. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on his head.

Peter sighed. "It's been almost a week of this, El. Every night he goes and stays out until all hours. The only common theme is that he usually ends up the same cheap motel at some point."

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend?" Elizabeth said, but it didn't feel right, even to her. That kind of behavior sounded more like he was finding someone to, well… pay. But that wasn't like Neal. She couldn't see him doing that. Plus, it wasn't like he needed to. From what she'd seen and what Peter had told her, Neal could snag just about any girl he wanted. Hanging onto them was another matter.

"I don't think so," Peter said, shaking his head. "When he was dating Sara I could tell. He's not acting that way this time."

"If it's bothering you so much, why don't you just ask him?" Elizabeth suggested.

"Because if I directly ask Neal something he doesn't want me to know he either completely deflects it or answers me in half-truths," Peter said. "And then his guard will be up, because he'll know I suspect something." Her husband fell quiet, clearly thinking. "Maybe I'll check out this motel. See if I can get any hints from there."

Elizabeth sometimes felt like this cat and mouse game between Peter and Neal was never ending. In certain ways they trusted each other implicitly. But, Neal had given Peter cause to distrust him in other ways so many times that Peter had a hard time believing that not everything he did had a dark hidden motive. In turn that seemed to make Neal feel like he had to keep even innocent things from him, just so Peter wouldn't have reason to suspect him.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she assured him, kissing the top of his head. "Now I'm going to bed, Agent Burke. Try to get some sleep at some point."

* * *

The motel Neal had been frequenting was a dump, Peter realized the moment he walked in. It was almost as bad as the place the FBI had originally set Neal up in, before he somehow charmed his way into June's home.

"What are you up to, Neal?" he murmured as he looked around. This looked like the perfect place to plan a crime, and Peter really hoped he was just overreacting. There surely had to be a reasonable (and legal) explanation for why Neal had been here once a night for the last six nights. He never stayed long, which made it even stranger.

Peter walked up to the front desk, trying not to make a face as he saw the state of it – dusty, stained, and possibly a little sticky.

"Hi," he said, flashing his badge.

The man at the front desk was unshaven, wearing a hoodie and Peter had a feeling he probably hadn't showered in the last couple days. He looked less than impressed at the badge, and not at all surprised to see a Fed on the premises. Peter was sure they got a lot of shady characters through here.

"Do you recognize this man?" Peter asked, pulling out the picture of him and Neal that El had taken the day they were both in tuxes. For some reason Peter hadn't been able to bring himself to use the kid's mug shot. Neal wasn't in trouble. Yet.

The hotel clerk glanced at the picture. "Nice getups," he commented, before looking more closely at Neal. "Yeah, I've seen him. He's been coming by the last few nights. Meets up with the guy from room 202, then they usually leave."

"Who's in room 202?" Peter asked, feeling like he was finally about to uncover what was going on, and not sure he wanted to.

The man started clicking at keyboard of the old computer on the desk. "Michael Smith."

Or maybe not.

Smith? Sounded like an alias if Peter had ever heard one. And not a very good one at that. "Can you tell me what he looks like?" Peter asked.

The clerk shrugged. "A little shorter than you. Dark hair –going grey."

Peter sighed. Not exactly much to go on. "Great. Thanks for the help."

"Yeah, sure."

When he got back to the office – he'd gone to check the motel out during his lunch – Neal was at his desk, head resting in his hand and clearly dozing off. Looked like the late nights were catching up with him.

Too damn bad.

"Any headway on the case, Neal?" he asked, and his partner started, hands immediately going to the file he'd been leaning on.

"Uh. Not yet," Neal replied, blinking a few times and flipping pages as if Peter would buy that's what he'd been doing all along.

"Uh huh," Peter said, shaking his head and continuing past his CI's desk and up to his office. He sat down, watching Neal as he scrubbed his hands vigorously over his face in what looked like an attempt to wake up and legitimately do some work. It almost made Peter smile. After a moment he opened his computer and ran a search on Michael Smith. As he suspected, he ended up with thousands of matches, and he was almost positive that Michael Smith was not the real name of the man Neal had begun meeting.

So now what?

* * *

When Neal got home after work on Friday, he walked into his apartment with every intention of taking a short nap before he left to meet his dad. They'd spent the last few nights together, either with Neal showing him the city (at least the parts he was allowed to go), or just going to a little shop to get a late dinner or coffee.

The awkwardness had started to fade, and though there were still things they avoided talking about, Neal was genuinely starting to enjoy his visits with his old man. They didn't have a ton in common (except criminal records), but as it turned out, it didn't really matter. His dad wasn't much of an art person, but he listened to Neal talk about it with a small smile and no interruptions, and to Neal, just that small effort on his part meant more to him than he'd ever expected it to. He cared about something because his son did.

There was a long time where Neal had harbored resentment for his father. Growing up he had had this image of him – a cop, a good guy, a hero. An honorable, loyal, loving man. He'd always been so proud of him. That image had been shattered after Ellen had told him the truth, and Neal had felt a new emotion toward Daniel Caffrey. Hatred. Because he didn't live up to the expectations Neal had had – expectations based on lies from his mother, but they were expectations none the less.

Neal wasn't sure when the hatred shifted to disappointment and then finally to a heavy apathy. How could he be mad at his father when Neal himself was a criminal? It seemed pretty hypocritical. So instead of wasting energy on a man he barely knew, he just gave up on knowing him, understanding him, or caring about him. How likely was it he'd ever see him again, anyway?

But he was here, and he was making an effort. And Daniel hadn't yet asked him for anything but his time. Neal was starting to think that maybe this really was just about his dad trying to make amends for disappearing on him all those years ago.

"You've been suspiciously out of touch the last week or so," Mozzie said from his seat at Neal's kitchen table.

Neal bit back a sigh. He was so tired. "Sorry, Moz," he said. "It's just been busy at work." He knew he probably should tell Mozzie about his father, but for some reason he couldn't say it. Maybe he was worried that cynical Mozzie, who could always look at things with a logical, critical eye (as long as it wasn't anything relating to conspiracies), would see the situation in a way Neal hadn't. And for now, Neal wanted everything to stay as it was, with no outside opinions.

It was the first time he really had the opportunity to get to know his dad for himself, not through stories.

"I understand, I guess. Gotta make it look like you're being on the straight and narrow for your commutation, after all," Mozzie replied.

"Exactly," Neal said.

"So are you free from the tyranny of the Suit tonight?" Mozzie asked.

"Actually—" Neal began, about to lie about another stakeout. He cut off when someone knocked on his door. Frowning he turned to open it, blinking in surprise as he saw Peter.

"Hey Neal," his partner said. He held up the mortgage fraud case file and a six pack of beer. "Thought maybe we could work through this tonight. It's too simple of a case to be taking us so long."

"Guess not," Mozzie piped up, answering his own question.

"Hi Mozzie," Peter said, his smile too cheerful in Neal's opinion. "Want to stay and help? Nice case of mortgage fraud."

"Pedestrian," Mozzie said. "Where's the fun in mortgage fraud?"

"Aw, come on what's wrong with mortgage fraud?"

"I have plans," Neal interrupted.

Peter raised his eyebrows looking surprised, but it was the kind of look that he wore when he wanted Neal to _think _he was surprised, but he actually wasn't, which always made Neal nervous. He didn't show it though.

"Plans?" Peter said.

"With who?" Mozzie added.

Neal felt like he was being interrogated all of a sudden.

"A friend," he replied vaguely, barely managing to keep a grimace from his face – no way either of these two were going to buy that story. He was usually such a good liar. Indeed, Peter looked like he didn't believe him for a second.

"You have friends besides us?" Mozzie said, eyebrows raising. "Wait, wait. Is this a friend of the _female_ persuasion?"

Thank you, Mozzie.

Neal merely shrugged, giving a coy smile. Let them draw their own conclusions.

"Should have known," Mozzie said, shaking his head and standing. "Guess there's no point hanging around here."

Neal looked at Peter. The man seemed… disappointed? Had he really wanted to work on the case that badly?

Or did he know something? For once though, Neal wasn't doing anything _wrong_. There was nothing illegal about meeting his father.

He definitely didn't want Peter to know about it though. As much as he didn't want Mozzie's opinion of his dad, he _really _didn't want Peter's. Firstly, because as far as Peter knew his father was dead, and secondly, he wasn't sure exactly why, but just the idea of Peter judging Daniel made him feel defensive.

Peter seemed to force a smile. "Is it Sara?" he asked. Neal knew Peter was rooting for them to get back together, but he was pretty sure Sara wasn't going to forgive him anytime soon.

"No, not Sara," he said with a shake of his head and a smile.

"Fine fine, keep your secrets," Peter replied.

Neal smiled and bid them both farewell. He wouldn't have time for a nap now, so he went to get the shirt he'd bought especially for tonight.

He couldn't remember the last time he wore a t-shirt when he wasn't breaking into somewhere.

* * *

Peter and Mozzie went their separate ways after leaving June's. That had been a bust. Peter was hoping a night of going over a case and a little alcohol, and he could get Neal to tell him what was going on. It was a long shot, but it was all he could think of, short of staking out the hotel and looking for Mr. Room 202.

Peter considered going home, resigned to another night of watching Neal's tracking data. He sat in his car thinking. Neal was definitely not meeting a woman. He was parked a block up from June's, and unknowingly found himself watching the front door.

The door opened and his jaw actually dropped as Neal stepped out, putting on a hat. A _ballcap. _

And – was he wearing a St. Louis Cardinals t-shirt? Had Peter fallen into an alternate dimension after getting in his car?

Neal was running a con. He had to be. Why else would he be dressed that way?

Peter watched him hail a cab. Unable to let this go, he put his car in drive and started to tail him.

* * *

"Do you remember when I took you to a Cardinal's game?" Daniel had asked Neal two nights earlier.

Neal looked at him, lips quirking, but he shook his head. "No – when was this?"

Daniel smiled at the memory. "You must have been 18 months old at the time, makes sense you wouldn't remember. I think you ate your weight in cotton candy," he added with a laugh. "And when the wave got started you couldn't stop laughing, it was the funniest thing you'd ever seen."

Neal grinned at the story. He couldn't help but wonder if his dad had been around if he would have turned into a sports fan instead of an art lover.

"This might be too weird," Daniel said, pulling Neal from his musings. "But I got tickets to the game for Friday. I saw the Cardinal's were in town and…" he trailed off a moment, then pushed on. "I don't know, if you're not into baseball, that's fine, I just thought you might like it."

The first thing that came to Neal's mind was when Peter had told him about watching baseball with his dad on the porch and playing catch during the commercials. While he'd never been much of a sports guy, something about that story had caused an ache in Neal that day.

Neal smiled and said, "Sure. That sounds like fun."

Neal made it to Yankee Stadium, and waited near the gate his dad had said he would meet him at, smiling at the good natured (and some not so good natured) boo's or jeers he'd get from Yankees fans at his Cardinals gear.

* * *

Peter was surprised when he realized that Neal had actually gone to the stadium. He wasn't a sports fan, so what exactly was he playing at? He watched where Neal went – he wasn't hard to spot, in a crowd full of Yankee's fans, there weren't that many wearing the Cardinals red.

Peter parked in an area where he could still see Neal, who hadn't gone inside yet. The young man checked his watch before scanning the crowd with his eyes. He was definitely meeting someone.

The game was getting close to starting and the crowds began to clear as people went inside the stadium, so when the guy showed up, Peter had a pretty good view.

A little shorter than he was (in fact, close to Neal's height). Dark but graying hair. Peter had no doubt this was the man the clerk had described to him. What he couldn't believe the clerk had forgotten to mention, as Peter stared, hands gripping his steering wheel, is that the man was a dead ringer for Neal if he was about twenty years older.

He watched his CI smile in greeting, and the man clapped the kid on the back and the two went inside and out of Peter's view.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Whoops! Thanks to my reviewer Leonie-Alastair for pointing out that the Cardinals usually play the Mets and not the Yankees. Not being an avid MLB fan, I didn't even think about that. I did a little research after that to see what my options were to fix the oversight and saw that the leagues do play interleague games, so while it's unlikely, it's not technically impossible! Normally I'd just switch it to the Mets and call it a day, but from what I can tell, the Mets stadium is out of Neal's range, and I know he was in front of Yankee stadium without Peter. So I think we'll just call it artistic license and say it's an interleague game, if that's cool with everyone. Thank you for the reviews so far!**

* * *

Peter had gone back to the office after Neal had gone inside the stadium. He sat at his desk, staring out the glass window at the seat Neal normally occupied, hands folded in front of his face as he thought. Resolved, he finally logged into his computer and ran a search for _Caffrey_. As soon as he typed the C, the auto-fill brought up the full name, and he shook his head. He hadn't run a search on Neal in a long time, and still his computer knew.

There were far less hits than Michael Smith, but still enough that he'd be spending a good portion of the night running through profiles. He'd just settled in for a long evening, about to call Elizabeth and tell her not to wait up when a thought occurred to him. His searches for Neal had always been _Caffrey, Neal_. So why was his computer auto-filling in just Caffrey?

"Goddamnit, Neal," he said, pulling up the information for his computer's key-logger. Neal knew he had one and once Peter had told him, he assumed the conman wouldn't be bold enough to use his computer, so he'd honestly stopped checking it on a regular basis. Maybe that's what Neal had counted on, though.

He was glaring at his monitor as he found the day Neal had broken into his computer (how he'd figured out the password was another question entirely, but then again, this was Neal). The only silver lining he had here was this had just saved him hours of searching, because right in front of him was the first file Neal had pulled – _Caffrey, Daniel._

Peter hesitated, feeling suddenly like he was about to pry into a part of Neal's life that was private. He wasn't positive of course, but his gut, which was rarely wrong, told him that man was Neal's father. Neal had told Peter his dad was dead – or at least had implied it - and just getting him to say even a few words about how he was a dirty cop had been like pulling teeth. No matter how much Neal attempted to keep up his mask of the cheerful conman, Peter knew him well enough to know that the situation with his father had had a far deeper affect on him than he'd ever admit.

If Neal hadn't broken into his computer to look up his old man, Peter might have shut down his search and left it at that. But if he was willing to go behind his back on this, then Peter was going to find out why.

Not because he was worried about him or anything.

He opened the page on Daniel Caffrey and started to read.

* * *

Neal didn't mind baseball, he found. The thing he found the most interesting was watching the pitching and thinking about how that had been Peter at some point. He almost felt bad the older man wasn't there – but then thought about how weird _that _would be.

As far as Daniel knew, Neal was working at an office job. It wasn't a lie; he just hadn't detailed which office. He didn't know why he was keeping it from him. It was another one of those things that he just wasn't ready to tell him quite yet. The anklet, also, had gone without discussion. Fortunately, it wasn't very visible and Neal made sure to walk behind him on the stairs, so he wouldn't notice it accidentally.

The Yankees had won the game, which disappointed his dad, but Neal didn't really have a ton invested in the outcome. He couldn't help but grin as Frank Sinatra came over the speakers and started singing _New York, New York _as people filed out. It seemed like an oddly good sign to Neal – if he believed in such things.

He whistled the song as he got out of the taxi in front of June's and checked his watch. After eleven. Late, but not nearly as bad as it had been for most of the week. He didn't have to work Saturday and he was planning to sleep in nice and late. He paid the driver and turned to enter the house, pulling to an abrupt stop as he spotted Peter standing on the top step, lit up by a nearby street lamp.

"Peter," he said, feeling like a kid who'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Which, again was stupid – he'd done nothing wrong. "You can't still want to go over that mortgage fra—"

"You want to explain this to me?" Peter did not look pleased. He tossed a folder to Neal, who caught it, blinking up at him before slowly opening it. It was his father's file – not the crumpled copy he had hidden in the panel above his fireplace, but fresh, newly printed.

"Looks like you've met my dad," Neal commented.

"You've been sneaking around all hours of the night, breaking into my computer, and lying - to me and hell, even to Mozzie," Peter said, holding up his hand when Neal opened his mouth to protest that he hadn't technically lied to him. Mozzie, yeah, but not Peter. "I want to know what's going on, Neal. Are you helping your father do something illegal?" He walked down June's front steps to stand in front of Neal, hands on his hips.

Neal's eyes widened at the accusation. "What? No. Peter, no." Of all the things he thought Peter might say, he'd never even considered that the man would assume… but of course he would. He always did. Even when Neal hadn't stolen the treasure, he'd immediately concluded he had. That complete lack of faith had made it a pretty easy decision not to tell him about it once he had his hands on it.

"Then why all the sneaking around, Neal?" Peter asked.

"I haven't done anything wrong here," Neal said, getting defensive - angry even. He knew he didn't make it easy to trust him; he made bad decisions, he _knew _that, but he was trying. Moments like these, though, he found himself wondering why. He'd always be a con in the FBI's eyes. In Peter's eyes.

"Nothing wrong?" Peter replied. "You broke into an FBI agent's computer, Neal."

"Okay I did _one_ thing wrong here," Neal amended. "But I'm not doing anything illegal, Peter, I swear."

"You're not," Peter said, and to Neal the words sounded… sarcastic. As if the idea of him doing anything on the up and up was somehow ludicrous.

He set his jaw. "No."

"Then why did you pull up information on Anthony Parrino?" Peter asked, nodding toward the papers in Neal's hands.

"Curiosity." Which was the absolute truth.

"That man is the current _boss _of the Giordano crime family - the most dangerous mob in the city of St. Louis," Peter hissed. "Neal, if you're screwing around with these guys, it's not just the FBI you'll have to worry about. One wrong move and you'll be _dead_, do you understand?"

There was no point arguing it. There never was. Peter was certain that Neal was doing something and nothing Neal said would convince him otherwise now. He held out the folder for Peter to take. "Yeah. I get it."

Peter looked like he wanted to hit him. Neal tilted his chin up, almost daring him to. They stared at one another for a long moment before Peter snatched the folder from his hand. He left without another word, Neal watching him stalk up the street to his car.

* * *

"Do you know for sure he's lying?" Elizabeth said the next morning. Peter had been sulking, staring at his breakfast, and when his wife had asked him what was wrong he told her the whole story.

"For sure?" Peter said. "No." He sighed. "But he got pretty defensive when I confronted him."

"Huh," Elizabeth said, looking thoughtful before taking a bite of her cereal.

"What?" Peter asked.

"Nothing," she said. "It's just… Neal's good at what he does, you're the first one to admit that."

Peter shrugged, but he couldn't disagree with her. "So?"

"So, it just seems to me if he was lying he wouldn't be defensive. He'd be smooth and charming and, well, Neal."

Peter realized, for probably the millionth time, why he loved his smart and sexy wife so much. What she said made sense. A lot of sense. He couldn't help but think about the day at the warehouse, when he had accused Neal of stealing the treasure. He'd also gotten defensive and angry. "Prove it!" he'd spat, before stalking off.

That was before he had had the treasure. Before he'd found out that Mozzie had taken it. It had been a genuine reaction from an innocent Neal.

And after? Once he knew about the treasure? He was back to being, well, Neal Caffrey.

Maybe confronting Neal last night hadn't been such a good idea. But after reading the information on his dad, and seeing who his mob connection was… Peter got worried. Neal made stupid decisions. All the time. Especially when it came to helping out friends. Peter believed that would extend to family, no matter how estranged they may be. It just seemed too coincidental for Daniel Caffrey to show back up in Neal's life and Neal to start running searches on Parrino. If Neal was getting involved with the Giordano's, he could truly be in danger.

But what if Neal really just had been curious? What if he saw a way to find out more about his father, noticed that Daniel was believed to be connected to Parrino, so looked him up as well?

It was possible, wasn't it?

Or maybe Peter was just rationalizing it, in the hopes that it was true.

He legitimately didn't know what to believe anymore when it came to Neal.

* * *

"Wait, so your father's here. In New York," Mozzie said. Neal couldn't tell what his expression was - surprise? Concern?

Neal hadn't gotten as restful a sleep as he'd hoped he would after his fight with Peter. Mozzie arrived the next morning looking for some of June's coffee, and Neal ended up telling him everything. He wondered if it was in the hopes of feeling like he had someone on his side. Whenever it was Neal versus Peter, Mozzie weighed in in favor of Neal, no surprise there.

"Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"For over a week?" Mozzie asked, and Neal was starting to get the feeling his friend wasn't too pleased with him keeping this a secret.

"I'm sorry Moz," Neal said. "I should have said something. I was just trying to get to know him, I guess."

Mozzie seemed appeased by the apology. "Well? What's he like?"

Neal considered. "Like a guy who's out of practice being a dad," he said. "But he's trying, I think."

"And the Suit thinks he's running a con?" Mozzie said.

"He's not," Neal said, firmly, not sure when he'd became so positive. Up until last night, he'd had his own doubts. But it was like the moment Peter voiced the same concerns, Neal had to defend his choices by defending his dad.

"But he has mob connections?"

"He was working for the mob in St. Louis," Neal said. "But that was years - no decades - ago, when he was a cop."

His phone buzzed suddenly, and Neal glanced at the number. It was his father. He picked it up. "Hello?"

"Neal?" Daniel said. He sounded… off. "I need your help, son."


	5. Chapter 5

Daniel Caffrey had always been a good cop. He played by the rules, worked hard, stayed late, wrapped up cases, caught a lot of bad men and put them behind bars. He made an okay living, but it wasn't about the money, it never had been. He'd wanted to protect and serve. He wanted to be a hero.

All that changed when his wife told him she was pregnant.

Now he was going to be a father. He needed to provide. They couldn't raise a family in a small one bedroom apartment. They needed to get a house, they needed money for baby supplies - a crib, a carseat, baby clothes, a college fund - and Daniel realized very quickly that his salary wasn't going to cut it.

He had been really starting to feel the pressure around the same time that he and his partner Ellen had gotten assigned to be part of a drug bust. Jen was six months pregnant and they'd just put a down payment on a home, and already he was wondering just how he was going to afford the mortgage payments.

They'd kicked in the door of the crack house (drug houses never used to exist in the little town of Shrewsbury but the mob's activities had started seeping out from St. Louis and into the surrounding suburbs). Ellen and a few others were busy dragging the suspects outside, and Daniel was left alone with stacks of cash and drugs before evidence came in to collect them.

He stared at the cash for a long moment. Just a couple stacks of bills and he'd be set for years. And they were right there. Wasn't it better that someone who _needed_ the money have it? Definitely better what it would have been used for. Why not let it pay for diapers instead of drugs?

Decided, Daniel snatched up several stacks of hundreds and stuffed them into his pants.

And that was how it started.

He had no idea how the mob found out he'd stolen their money. One day on his way home from work however, he was grabbed off the street and pulled into a black towncar.

Daniel came to in an empty warehouse, tied to a chair. He'd been on the force five years, and he had to admit that even he thought shit like this only happened in movies, not in real life. He was not alone - standing above him was a man he'd never seen before, but that he'd become very familiar with in the next few years, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit, dark hair neatly combed, and an expensive looking watch on his wrist.

Anthony "Nino" Parrino had not been the boss of the Giordano family when Daniel had known him. He'd been a smaller boss, who handled a lot of the business in areas outside of St. Louis. He was calculating, smart, and strangely charming. He also had an uncanny knowledge of what made men tick, which, to Daniel, made him more frightening than any two bit goon with a gun.

He never asked Daniel for the money back. In fact, he told him to keep it. Told him there was more where that came from, if he was willing to play ball. There were no threats. Daniel couldn't blame it on that. Couldn't even pretend like he was doing it to protect his wife and baby. Parrino had seen the greed that had awoken in Daniel Caffrey, and he offered him an opportunity to get more.

Daniel took it.

He fell further into the crime world. He was bringing in cash for his family, and when Jen finally had his son, Benjamin Neal Caffrey, there were no money worries. As far as Jen knew he'd gotten a raise.

He did things he wasn't proud of, but that he justified by saying it was for Ben and his future.

Once he was caught, once his trial was over and he'd been found guilty, Jen cut ties. She lied to their son and kept him from Daniel, even went so far as to start calling him Neal as if that would somehow remove any claim Daniel had to him. Ben had been his choice - his father's name.

He'd told Neal the truth. When he'd been released from prison he hadn't sought him out because he wasn't sure his son wanted anything to do with him. They'd had one awkward visit when the kid had been eighteen, and Daniel hadn't heard from him again.

This silence may have continued on for the rest of his life, while Daniel made a meager living as a garbage man in St. Louis (it was hard to make a living as a former convict), if not for Anthony Parrino appearing back in his life, nearly five years after he'd been released from prison.

It wasn't Parrino who approached him, of course. One of his goons - not one that Daniel recognized, it had been years after all - came up to him on a Saturday evening as he left the local bar, telling Daniel to come with him. It brought on a familiar wave of dread and excitement, the one he'd always felt whenever he'd meet with Parrino or one of his men, when he'd get his tasks or his payoffs.

Parrino was now the boss of the entire family. He'd grown grayer and fatter than the last time that Daniel had seen him, but he was still as sharp as ever.

Daniel hadn't implicated the Giordanos or Parrino in anything during his trial, even though he probably would have been able to turn on them and get a reduced sentence. It just wasn't worth the risk that the Giordanos might seek retribution on him or his family. Because of this, Parrino still seemed trust him.

It didn't even take much persuasion on Parrino's part. He still knew all the right things to say, pointing out that Daniel probably could use a supplement to his rather sad income. Daniel had tried to turn him down - he was through with all that, he'd said. Parrino responded with a few things that somehow managed to make Daniel feel like he was being threatened without ever actually threatening him. Pretty soon he found himself working small jobs here and there for the Giordanos, eventually getting a group of thugs of his very own. He wasn't a boss of course, not even close, more like a manager, focused on running drugs and cash around the city. He was back on the wrong side of the law, but he was getting paid good money, and he figured keeping Parrino happy would keep himself healthy.

Then, about three weeks ago, he was summoned to Parrino.

"Danny," Parrino said when he entered his office. "You have a problem."

"I do?" Daniel asked, trying ignore the sudden sick feeling in his stomach as he racked his brain for what that problem could be.

"The books are off, Danny," Parrino said, lighting a cigar and taking a puff. "You're skimming."

"What?" Daniel said, that sick feeling intensifying. If Parrino thought he was stealing from him… he'd used the first time as an advantage to get a cop on his payroll, this time though, Daniel didn't have that leverage. "Nino, there's no way – you know I wouldn't do that."

"I'm missing five hundred grand," Parrino said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Do you have an explanation for why?"

"It wasn't me, Nino," Daniel said. "It must have been one of the guys—"

"One of _your_ guys," Parrino interrupted. "They work for you, Danny, they're your responsibility." He nodded at one of his goons who'd been standing near the door. He took a step toward Daniel, who started to panic. They were going to kill him.

"You're right," Daniel said. "They're my responsibility. I'll find your money, Nino. I'll get you the five hundred."

Parrino held up his hand and the goon stopped advancing. "I like you, Danny," Parrino said. "I always have. I believe you didn't take it, but you should be paying more attention. I'll be generous here. You've got a month to find my money."

Daniel spent almost two weeks trying to figure out who'd taken the money, but he wasn't the type to use the same kind of methods as Parrino, and without the threat of broken legs or missing fingers, no one was talking. He wasn't able to trace back where discrepancies were coming from. He had no clues whatsoever.

He was going to need to come up with the money some other way.

* * *

Neal's expression remained blank and unreadable throughout his father's entire story. When he finished, Neal didn't say anything for a while. He'd been right from the start. Peter had been right. This had never been about a father wanting to get to know his son. Stupid.

Mozzie was looking between the two Caffreys, clearly barely managing to contain whatever it was that he wanted to say. The three men were sitting on Neal's veranda. Neal had little reason to hide his father anymore, so he'd invited him over after getting his phone call.

"I don't have that kind of money lying around, dad," Neal finally said. If he fenced the Raphael he would, but the painting was too hot. Too many people suspected he had it at the moment and with his commutation hearing slowly approaching, he wasn't about to make a move that dumb. He had other items he'd hung onto for a rainy day, but they weren't in New York. By the time someone was able to retrieve them it would be too late anyway.

"No," Daniel said. "Of course you don't." His father took a shaky sip of the coffee Neal had poured him. A silence descended. After a moment, Daniel looked up from his coffee cup and said, "Do you know any way to get it?"

Neal and Mozzie exchanged a glance. "Are you asking if your son is willing to pull a job to get you half a million dollars?" Mozzie asked. Neal glanced at his friend, surprised to see that he looked disgusted.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly a shoo-in for 'Father of the Year' here," Daniel said. "But if I don't come up with that money quick I'm dead, and any chance to make up for lost time is gone."

"Do you have any idea of the intricacies involved in planning a job like that?" Mozzie asked.

" I'm willing to help," Daniel said. "I just can't pull this off on my own. I'm just an ex-cop who got caught up with the mob, I'm not exactly a criminal mastermind."

Neal guessed that in his father's eyes that's exactly what he was. He was barely paying attention to the conversation, staring at the skyline, thinking.

"That much is obvious," Mozzie said. "A job like this takes a mark – which we don't have, followed by planning – which we have no time for, upfront cash – which is obviously something you're lacking, more planning. Oh did I mention all the planni—"

"I've got an idea," Neal interrupted, lips tilting into the start of a grin when Daniel and Mozzie both looked at him.

* * *

"For the record? This is a terrible plan," Mozzie said, watching as Neal straightened his tie.

"It'll be fine, Moz," Neal said, shrugging on his suit jacket. "Dad takes me to meet them, introduces me, I explain how I can get them a whole lot more than five hundred grand and I'm in."

"Your friend is right, Neal," Daniel said, shaking his head and looking pale. "I don't like this – you shouldn't be getting involved with these people, you have no idea what they're capable of."

"Trust me," Neal said, looking at his father. "I know what I'm doing."

"And he's got backup," Peter added from his spot by the door of the FBI conference room. He tossed Neal the watch that was actually a bug and GPS locator all in one.

Neal caught it with all his usual casual confidence, securing it on his wrist. "Exactly. The FBI'll rush in and save the day if anything sounds off."

It was weird, Peter thought, to hear Neal placating someone else. Then again, the last several days had been a strange shift in their dynamic. It was one of the few times they appeared to be in agreement on how to handle something.

Peter was sure his surprise had shown on his face when Neal showed up at his door the evening after they'd had their argument. If it wasn't, however, it quickly became obvious when Neal said, "Guess you were right, Peter."

He said it with all of his usual charm, his mask of cheerfulness, as if it was a statement about nice weather, but Peter could tell - his gut was positive - that Neal was feeling things that Peter himself had felt only yesterday. Disappointed. Let down.

Whatever Neal had learned about his father, Peter was almost certain it had not been expected. Which made him feel a little guilty, because that probably meant Elizabeth had been right, and Neal hadn't been doing anything wrong except using the FBI database to try to get information on the father who'd been absent for almost his entire life. In fact, Peter felt a certain sense of pride in his CI when it occurred to him that Neal might have had his own suspicions of Daniel Caffrey's intentions.

"What happened?" Peter asked, letting him in.

Neal sat at the kitchen table and told him the whole story over a slice of cake that Elizabeth practically forced on him.

Peter didn't relish this victory. Being right about Neal's dad still having involvement with the mob was a hollow win when it proved that the man had come to see his son for no other reason than a desperation to save his own skin.

What he did relish was the fact that Neal was sitting there in front of him, actually _telling _him what was going on, instead of running off and getting involved in some scheme to make a quick five hundred grand. Not only telling him but -

"Peter," he'd said. "I need your help."

They'd had to get Organized Crime involved, from the St. Louis office no-less, which of course had turned the whole thing into a bit of a pissing contest, but in the end it was Peter who won, pointing out that this in was only an option because of _his _CI, and if they wanted to use him then Peter would be calling the shots on how things went down.

When Neal had first told him his idea, Peter's immediate response was a firm, resounding, "No."

Like Daniel Caffrey, Peter knew that the Giordanos were dangerous people to mess with, and even though Neal had been in dangerous positions before, this was a whole new level of ball. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in Neal to pull it off, but if it didn't work, or it was discovered that he had double crossed them, Neal was going to be walking around with a huge target on his back probably for the rest of his life. Peter didn't want to risk it.

But Neal had been adamant, slowly convincing him of the merits of the idea. So he had run it by his wife who pointed out that if Peter didn't help Neal, he was probably going to do something equally as dangerous, without the benefit of Peter waiting to back him up. Knowing this was most likely true, he then brought the idea to Hughes, who said that it was the kind of opportunity that didn't fall in your lap every day, and they should really take advantage of it.

So, reluctantly, Peter green lit the plan to send his friend into the clutches of the mafia.

* * *

Getting his father to agree to go to the FBI had taken all of Neal's considerable persuasion skills. He'd had to point out that this would be the best thing for him, he could get out of the mob, start fresh, get a new life, get -

"Stuck in witness protection," his father had muttered. "Or back in jail."

"You won't go back to jail," Neal said. "Peter will cut you a deal. They'll want Parrino."

"And if they don't get him I'm as good as dead anyway," Daniel said.

"They'll protect you."

"They'll try."

Daniel hadn't seemed too pleased to learn about his Neal's ties with the FBI. Clearly he thought he was coming to a seasoned criminal who would help him come up with some cash, and he would head back to St. Louis to continue his life with the Giordanos - with the added bonus of a possible new bond with his son that had been forged through theft or something similar.

Neal had considered it. He had. For a brief moment his mind had been doing a rundown on possible things they could get their hands on that would be worth that kind of money, and rated them in order of difficulty to steal. Then he realized what he was doing. Exactly what Peter had accused him of. Planning something illegal.

And in the process he was playing with both his life and his dad's. Because if it didn't work, or if they were caught, it would mean the end for both of them, likely in jail or dead.

Right then he thought to himself, what would Peter do? He'd use the FBI. He'd go about thing the legal way. He'd have backup. He'd not only solve this immediate problem, he'd make it so future problems never had to happen.

He'd catch the sons of bitches.

Once Neal had finally managed to convince his father that the FBI was the best answer, he'd gone to Peter and asked for his help, explaining that his dad was willing to testify if he could cut him a deal. And Peter had come through, just like Neal had known he would.

So all that was left was to take down Parrino.

And hope it worked.


End file.
